


Need

by ccauchemar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, Multiplicity/Plurality, Post-Talon, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccauchemar/pseuds/ccauchemar
Summary: Lacroix and Oxton need things they can't get.





	1. Widow

“I need this,” Widow said, sitting on a chair in the dark. “I crave it like I need oxygen.”

Lena crouched before her. “What do you need?”

Widow squinted. “Don’t patronize me. You know what.”

“Mmnh… I know… just wondered if you meant anything other than reconditioning.” Lena sat cross legged on the floor. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Just a little bit?”

“I don’t want to, Oxton.”

Lena winced and her expression turned sour. “You’re really in it, huh.”

“Yes, I am. Is there an issue with that?” Widow snapped. She seemed to realise what she’d said, and sighed in frustration. “I don’t mean to snap. I’m sorry.”

Lena nodded, accepting the apology. “I get it. You’re frustrated, right?”

Widow grunted. Her eyes were shut and she dug her clasped hands into her forehead. “It’s worse than drugs,” she muttered.

“You know about addiction?”

“A little, but mostly second hand.”

Silence stretched.

“You aren’t going to leave me alone, are you,” Widow asked dryly.

“Not really. I don’t… want to?” Lena said. “I want to make sure you’re okay. Amélie and the others don’t want you to suffer. They don’t want to get second hand shit either, some of ‘em talked to me a bit ago.”

Widow rolled her eyes, ground her teeth, and tried to suppress a wave of anger at her systemmates. “I hate them for that,” she muttered.

“Well, what do you want ‘em to do?” Lena said, with a huge shrug. “We’re stuck with our respective baskets.”

“Leo wouldn’t be playing pretty with me.”

 _“Leo_ would be cussing you out and either telling you to get your shit together, or…” Lena trailed off and stared at the ceiling. “Or, okay, shooting the shit with you, maybe she’s got different ideas.”

“How do you communicate so well?”

“Practice.”

Widow huffed. “Amélie and I still can’t communicate very well.”

“It takes practice,” Oxton drawled, half through her nose.

“Leo,” Widow said, seeing the switch and slouch.

“Sniper,” Leo said, having taken possession of the meat puppet.

“We were having a conversation.”

“I know. About me.” Leo blinked lazily. “Lena ain’t takin’ kindly to being called like she’s ‘playing pretty’ with you, she’s trying to be nice, you overgrown lump.”

Widow snickered. “At least you’re talking to me in a language I understand.”

“Be nice to her or I’ll start cussing,” Leo warned with a jab of her finger.

Widow rolled her eyes again. “Fine.”

“Good,” Leo said, and retreated. Lena blinked back into wakefulness. “Where were we?” she said.

“You were talking to me about…” Widow paused to remember. “Trying to get me to talk about reconditioning.”

Lena sighed. “You’ll still need to. I know you.”

“...I don’t want to,” Widow admitted. “I’m tired of _fucking_ talking. I just want to be mad.”

The sentiment was valid, but Lena saw her eyes unfocus. “What do you want to be mad about?” she coaxed.

To Widow, Lena’s voice sounded far away. The room shifted in and out of focus. “I,” she said. “I want to be angry.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to feel angry. I want to go back. I crave… I crrr…” she trailed off.

Lena watched carefully as her breathing got harsh.

“I need to go back,” Widow said. Her finger twitched. “I need to be good. I need to be fixed. I need to kill and be killed.”

Lena put her hand on Widow’s knee.

“Mmmmmy primary directive,” Widow’s body stuttered, “failed. Failed. Self destruct nnnot allowed. Control override not allowed. Amélieeee…” the sound stretched. “... prrresent. Administering comfort.”

Lena sighed. “That’s sweet of her.”

“Distant,” Widow said. “Not allowed. Ammmmélie not allowed.” She snapped to attention. “I am in control.”

“You sure are,” Lena said, gently.

“Broken, I’m, I’m broken,” Widow begged, turning mechanically. “Get them to fix me. Please, Lena.”

“I can’t,” Lena said softly. “They’re gone.”

“I need to be fixed,” Widow said, urgently, trembling. Her eyes slipped in and out of focus.

Lena rested her hand on Widow’s knee.

“If I can’t get them to fix me I’ll fix me myself,” Widow said, trying to access commands she was not authorised to self-administer. Her breathing became ragged again. She curled over on the chair and groaned. A headache stabbed her temples. “I need to _fucking_ fix me!”

Lena didn’t offer comfort. She just... didn’t know how.

“I need,” Widow begged. “I need to express. I need to obey. I want to scream. I need to _obey.”_

Leo acted where Lena couldn't and wrapped her arms around Widow’s shoulders. “It’s okay, baby,” she muttered. “You’re gonna be okay. This’ll pass.”

Widow groaned, drawn out and keening.

Leo patted her back. “It’ll be okay.” She kissed between Widow’s shoulderblades and rested her cheek on her spine. “I’m here.”


	2. L___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're both dissociating.

“I need to get out of this fucking body. You don’t get it. You don’t-”

She spins her partner. “Are you so sure about that?”

“It itches. It fucking itches. I’m not tall enough. I’m not strong enough. I’m not fast enough and big enough and normal enough. It’s seven kinds of wrong in a trenchcoat.”

“Are you the trenchcoat?” She says, spinning him, dipping him.

He shudders, and drops his head back, hair flopping in a fluffy cloud. “Maybe. I don’t know any more. I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not alone, you know.”

He groans.

She pulls him, holding him. “We’re nothing. Together. It’s okay.”

“Run away with me,” he murmurs, halfway to delirious.

She hums the tune.

“We can turn the world to gold,” he croons, climbing up, hands on her cheeks, kissing her.

“You gay menace,” she whisper-laughs, pulling him into a dance.

He fights the urge to dance harder. Shivering from suppressed mania. Vibrating from it, fit to burst. “We could,” he begs. “Come on. We could. We always could.”

“And break everything? Again? In two?” she asks.

“In five, seven, nine,” he says, feverish, grasping her face, her jaw, her neck. “Seven, eleven, twelve, twenty one, twenty seven-”

“Shhh,” she says, “shhh.”

“I want to fly away,” he moans, teetering on his feet. “Get me  _ out  _ of here.”

She squeezes him tighter. “I’m not going to lose you again.”

“Send me back to nothing,” he says. “Send me back to the nothing-”

“No.”

“Get me in the, the, c-colour, lines, fast, everything, everything was breaking and it was beautiful-”

“No.”

“Please, please, come on, please-”

“No.”

He chokes, he can’t deny her a third time. “I don’t like this,” he says, feeling like bile. “I wish I weren’t here.”

He’s coming back to earth, she can feel it in his tone. “Don’t leave me. Please. I don’t want to be here without you. I like hearing you.”

“I want to drift,” he says, weakly now.

She pets his hair.

“I want to get lost, in -” he sniffs “- I want to go back to being part of nothing. Everything. Nothing.”

She supports his body, holds him close to her, head on her chest, nose in his hair, body folded against hers.

He cries.


End file.
